More often than is naught I carry the face of the villain.
Snared in this prison waiting for my turn to burn while
your fate is not so different from mine. My clocks still
yield some ticks and tocks yet before I go there stands a
few things you need to know:

They told me that your love was fatal, though failed to
hear the laughter of irony from behind their heads. They
cried tales that you were toxic and I could not save my
lips from curling. They said that your presence in mine
would design the suffering for those around. I was told
that you would leave me up in smoke as if God still
plays with dice. Your middling cigarette spends just the
beginning of their lives packing yet I waged it my
whole life just to spend its remnants with you. Addictive
by nature so let me take my pick of a million other lips
to secure truth that it is you I am addicted to.

I want you to simmer my skin when the world is cold,
I want to cast you brighter than a hundred suns hold,
I want to steal breath from your chest and place it in mine,
I want to make your heart stop like an eight-sided sign,
I want you to move my pistons and ignite my core,
I want you to saturate me as I lay on your shore,
I want to find what it is to go out with a bang,
I want to be that picture that fits in no frame.

I want to get you out of my head but you are
my song on repeat,
my hole that’s too deep,
my nights with no sleep,
my words when I speak.

Yet alas I hail from a pack known as Montague while
you bear the brand of Capulet. They will never render
us free in this life so when my time finally comes to a
burning halt, and my life flashes before my eyes, just
know that you will be the only thing I see in the next.

The colours are not colours.
This must be a shock,
For what are they if they are not colours?
Well, colours are only colours when hit by the right light at the right moment,
But even then we all see them differently
The night is evidence of this
You look at a colour upon the light
And all you see is its representation
A beautifully hand-crafted lie
Somebody crafted these colours into it,
Magnificently sure...
But if you look upon this colour
Once the black of the night has fallen
And drained away the world
You will see
Not pretty, bright red's and blue's of innocence
But the black's and grey's of life
No matter how hard you can look
The colours will have changed,
Twisted and morfed into something unrecognisable.
A lie
This is the true truth of a colour
...It is a lie
One designed to lighten and highten
And to create the fear of truth
A concoction of the human world,
Wrought to fool and impress
To impose and to play
Playing a game that they themselves don't understand
One of tricks and illusions
One to keep you up all night writing
Simple things with lying words
Everything is a lie,
Hell, even a lie is a lie
Because when Earth is no longer fit for mankind
The sun stops spinning
And the understand of anything
We mere humans have accomplished to comprehend
Is gone
This is when everything will be nothing
There will be no nothings to interpret
Not even a few measley words
Strewn together with mace and lace
They will amount to nothing,
And yet,
The colours.
Stop to see the colours
The same ones
That lie in wait for the light
To jump and give you a fright
For one day
When the night view is never ending
You wont have the glory of being fooled or illuded
And that is the greatest part of life
That life does not really matter
So why not see what's not really there
While we still can

I spent today reeling you in.
                     threads of your silk love
fluttered through the air  
                     like broken, escaped spider webs

                                                  how can you be at once everywhere and nowhere?
                                                        ­            on an old voyage moment
                                                        yo­u rebuked me:
            “You’re looking with the wrong eyes,
my dear”
              But my eyes don’t dart differently.

                            I sit with the innumerable knots of your
                                                                ­         miscellaneous elations.
                                                       I sift for the ends to start
                                    unraveling, adapting
                         but maybe you are just one continuous
Idea

             as lo
ng as we’
     re
tan
         gled,

                              Bind
                the­ fibers of my physical being
                              catch
                   ­       the flapping petals
                                         falling from my
          composed mannerisms

                      stitch
                 your whimsy
                                          into each atom
                                     of my salient figure-

fuse your feathered fabric
into my most raw elements.

                               My life is a matted disarray
                                  of your truest notions-

A yarn Mount choreographed from
the diminutive strands
of your blinking captured freedom

                                    I spent today reeling you in-

So- entwine me, Love,
net me forever, Sweet,
my dearest jumble to disentangle

Amerikeisha tapping out the drumbeat with her see through plastic mechanical pencil  
Me sidewinding my way through highschool
Dizzy Gillespie's  trumpet waking the souls that are buried in the lockers,
Chick Corea and I are returning to forever
The land where summer is the only season
And daisy dukes are greatly appreciated,
John Coltrane is helping me realize
How beautiful girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are,
I've been dancing to Dave Brubeck since this morning
And I can't get Maria out of my head
I just picture Maria
As this girl
Feeling Pretty
Oh so pretty
I imagine if I saw her in the street
I wouldn't double take
But Take Five    
Charlie Parker playing saxophone like
It's as easy as brushing his teeth,
Nat King Cole
Serenading Hispanic women with his soothing tone
Robert Glasper experimenting with his music
Burning you brain like mentholated cough drops

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

I keep telling people,
"Art is my enemy."
"I haven't drawn in months."
"I don't like this piece."
"I'm close to giving up."
And then my mind...
It decides not to care.
I can draw without restraint.
And I do.
And I like it.
But then I am sent into self doubt,
All over again.
So when I draw something good,
Don't worry, I'm surprised too.

You don't seem to understand,
That everyone gets upset.
Yet I feel,
I need to comfort you,
Like you're mine.

I understand things are tough,
But they could be worse.
You could be
Falling
For some idiot,
Who lives miles away
And won't come see you.

You could be
Waiting up for them,
Thinking,
About them falling for other people,
Mascara running.

You could be
Afraid to ask
If they would be yours.
Because you don't want to ruin what little you have with them.
And hurting.
Every day.

I need cheering up.

You don't seem to understand,
That I get upset.
And I feel,
You need to comfort me,
Like you're mine.

I died once,
just to see what it was like
(it doesn’t matter how,
so I won’t bother saying)
my curiosity had bested me
and so I did what I had to
in order to see

Like Thomas,
my dying eyes were flooded
by white mice and roses,
all in constant motion as my
eyelids finally shut
although the darkness had
embraced me absolutely,
a kind of clairvoyance
unknown to me picked me
up and swept me away
still blind, I found my footing
and I waited
and waited

Silently, a light broke above me,
falling thickly onto my shoulders
like condensed milk
and then, from somewhere
a voice spoke, tragic and booming:

“YOU’RE EARLY.”

I winced at the reverberations
echoing into nothingness
I couldn’t muster any reply
beyond a half-trembling shrug

There was a quick snap,
and the peculiar feeling of standing
on a trapdoor that’s about to drop
and, at last, I was back;
returned to my mortal coil,
gulping breaths of air
cold and deep and new

I never used to be like this,
Not even 4 months ago,
I never used to wake up feeling sick
to my stomach,
Disgusted with myself, that I'm a
problem that people have to deal with,
Filled with anxiety causing a shaking
in my heart and ribs,
These butterflies are not cute,
They have wings of glass, puncturing
me from the inside out.
They're not because of you, but only
a repercussion of thinking of you,
and him, and her, and them,
and then, and when, and how.
               You'll leave.
               He thought he didn't hurt me.
               She was the only thing I had.
               They showed me I can't be one
               of them.
               Then the butterflies awoke,
               When I couldn't cope,
               How can I trust that you
               won't do the same.

I'm not a person. I'm the problem.